those crazy days
by she was the book thief
Summary: Next-Gen drabble collection. i: 93 million miles ii: february the 29th iii: and you'll take to the sky iv: here comes the sun
1. i: 93 million miles

September always seems to come as a shock to Scorpius – August is still summer, after all, and somehow he never makes the connection from August 31st to September 1st, from the carefree laziness of summer to the perfectly timed regulation of school. It takes weeks before he can force himself back into the familiar routine – by the time the leaves start falling, Scorpius has switched out of summer mode. His nature changes with the seasons, Rose told him once.

His mother presses a cool kiss to his stubbly cheek, her lemony perfume sweeping over him. "Have a good term, dear," she says, giving him one last hug before straightening out her pale yellow dress and waving him a refined farewell.

All he can think as the train pulls out is _yellow, the color of surprise._ He doesn't know where the idea came from – a dream? – but now it's stuck in his head like the rhythm of a pounding drum – _yellow, surprise, yellow, surprise. _

This year is different – _she_ isn't there, and he sits alone with the window, noting how remarkably different its frigid touch is from her blazing one, the touch that sent tongues of fire dancing through his entire body.

And now her body has succumbed to the flames, which, now that he thinks about it, really owned her all along. She doesn't belong with the rushing waves and the damp earth and the swirling air. She belongs to the sun – fiery and golden and passionate – and so far away.

In a moment of foolish fancy, he presses a kiss to his hand and blows it out the window towards the sun, daring, hoping, for it to reach her. He doesn't know if it ever will.


	2. ii: february the 29th

february the 29th

He's the kind of special that people avoid.

Even his own brother pretends they're not related. It's quite easy – Lorcan got the dashing, cavalier looks, wide blue eyes and golden curls, while Lysander is stuck with his flyaway dirty blond hair and gray-green eyes. Lorcan is charming and popular; Lysander is imaginative and dreamy, sifting through the sands of his special world.

He was born deaf.

His brother is embarrassed – ashamed – to be seen with him.

Lysander hardly notices anything in the real world – almost everything that matters to him is inside his head.

On February 29, he sticks one bony hand, coated in his imagination, through the brittle walls that enclose him in his own world. He finds a tiny purple flower drifting on the wind and plucks it from the air.

She's deliriously happy for the first time in months. It's her birthday, after all, the birthday that only comes every four years and makes her oh-so-different from everyone else.

She doesn't understand why everyone loves her – Victoire is beautiful and charming and elegant, while Dom is a mass of untidy red curls, sarcasm, and melancholy.

By the end of the day, her good mood has vanished, drifting away like a petal on the wind.

She is exhausted, inelegant, and hopeless. She almost crushes the tiny purple flower laid with care on her pillow, but sees it at the last moment. Twirling the fragile bloom gently between her fingers, she manages a true smile, the first in months.

A lot can happen on February the 29th.


	3. iii: and you'll take to the sky

__dedicated to Vicky (incandescent dreams)

disclaimer: original story belongs to JKR, lyrics belong to George Gershwin

_one of these mornings_

A girl dances and twirls in the wind, her red curls and white dress following her every motion. She stops to pluck flowers from the ground, and then tosses them out to the sky, then watching them fall swiftly, yellow against blue.

The woman on the porch smiles, laugh lines crinkling as she does so. She has aged beautifully, her golden hair turned a lovely silver shade and the lines on her face adding elegance, not detracting from her appearance. The man next to her takes her hand, chuckling. His blue hair contrasts strangely with the age creasing his expression.

.

_you're going to rise up singing_

The young girl resumes her dancing, humming to herself as she does so. A bell-like laugh escapes from her throat as she tilts her head back, gazing into the sky: the picture of happiness.

On the porch, the old couple exchanges vows of love for the ten thousandth time. The bench they are seated on sways slightly; it has grown rickety with age. Somehow, they have never been able to bring themselves to replace it. Their story is engraved into that bench – there they shared a first, tender kiss; their first vows of love; a second proposal. Tears and smiles, love and fear have been shared there, and they couldn't ever replace it. Nothing could even come close.

The girl – her name is Evanna – dances over to the other side of the cottage and out of sight.

.

_then you'll spread your wings_

The elderly man and his wife smile at each other, resting their heads on each other's shoulders like they have done millions of times before.

A cloud crosses the sun.

Teddy is the first to pass, his eyes falling shut for the final time. Moments later, Victoire follows him, her soul exiting her body and leaving it empty. Their hands are still intertwined.

.

_and you'll take to the sky_

Evanna comes around the other side of the house a few minutes later, still dancing. She sees the couple on the porch – her great-grandparents – and thinks nothing of their stillness – to her, they are simply asleep.

Nearly an hour later, her high keening wail shatters the peace and serenity of the scene, and the birds, startled, stop chirping.


	4. iv: here comes the sun

iv: here comes the sun

They're curled up in his bed, because even though she won't admit it, she's still a _tiny_ bit frightened of thunderstorms, and only when she's surrounded by his arms does she feel safe. He's idly plucking at his guitar, dreamily picking out chords and vague ideas of melody. His translucent blue eyes meet her green ones for a moment, and they hold each other's gaze. Then Lysander smiles, and starts playing a Beatles song.

Dom tucks an unruly red-gold curl behind her ear, her purple dress gathered around her knees, and smiles. Maybe, she thinks, maybe this is what true love is. And as he begins singing, she knows it is.

The storm crashes around the walls, but nothing can affect them. They are indestructible, the blazing glory of lightning across dark clouds. Lysander sings the final line and his hands stop their motion, and she reaches out for him. She doesn't want anything more than to spend forever in his arms. As he takes her in his arms, the guitar lying forgotten beside them, he whispers that one word, that promise, in her ear.

.

a/n: naturally, "here comes the sun" belongs to the Beatles. reviews are always welcome. i'm trying to start writing again, so this is not my best.


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